This is where I belong ||httyd fanfic||

14. Meet our blacksmith

Later on that day...

After the commotion of the spectacle in the arena had slightly settled down, even if the cheers and praise were still coming in droves, Syn took Hiccup to the blacksmith shop. It looked very similar to Berk's own, except it was more rotund in design and a lot bigger; Selardalr had placed blacksmithing in a bit higher regard than the Berk did, of course, all positions were respected here because they all contributed in keeping life going for everyone in their own way. There were still piles of scrap and tools everywhere, just as messy as Gobber would keep his forge, Hiccup thought.

He looked around and eventually his eyes landed on a man in the back who Hiccup assumed was the resident blacksmith. Compared to Gobber, this guy looked kind of young and had Orange hair that had yet to age, and most noticeably, he had all his limbs intact. He was hammering away at an axe blade still extremely hot and soft from the fires of the forge, pounding it into the proper shape while whistling a cheerful tune; all the noise in the room distracted the man as he hardly notice the two come in.

Syn grinned sneakily at Hiccup, drawing him to watch her next move. She picked up the nearest, softest object she could find from a nearby workbench: a small roll of leather. Hiccup got an idea of what she was going to do.

"Wait, Syn, I don't think you should-" Too late. Syn threw the leather at the back of Asmund's head. He let out a sound of pain clutching his head and groaned as he turned around to the source of the unexpected attack.

"Aw, Syn," he said. "I should have guessed that you'd come around here eventually with yar new friend, the local celebrity." Hiccup silently moaned at that description: somehow, someway, it had become Berk all over again. The only good thing about the whole situation was that at least he didn't have to hide his sympathy for the mighty beasts.

"So you noticed," Syn said as the Viking dipped the axe head in a nearby water barrel; the hissing steam filled the room and the water bubbled from the instantaneous heat as he left the weapon walking up to the two teenagers. "Asmund, this is Hiccup. Hiccup, this Asmund, our blacksmith." She introduced.

To the Silent Wolf vikings, the blacksmith was a respectable position, keeping everyone supplied with the equipment they needed to fend off the dragons and enemy tribes. Every occupation was respected on Selardalr, each one assisting to maintain a steady and favorable way of life. On Berk, the only admirable duties aside from the role of chief were those upheld on the battlefield; even the fire brigade that Astrid, Snotlout and the others were a part of had bragging rights. Unless you got in on the action, you may as well have been a rock.

"Hi," Hiccup said politely, even giving a curt wave. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Heard about ya from some o' ma customers. Tamed the Skrill, did'ya?" He asked. "Seems Harold was on'ta sumthin' after all…" Hiccup blushed a bit and turned away to rub his arm like it was his most favorite hobby. The reaction and the silence that followed had Asmund confused for a moment.

"So, uh, what are you making, Asmund?" Syn questioned, probably just trying to start a conversation, as she already knew good and well what he was making. By now she picked up on the fact that Hiccup had introverted tendencies and was pretty shy. Even though she could not for the life of her figure out why he didn't revel in his talents and feel any prouder of what was in her and her peoples' eyes the most incredible thing they had ever seen. This boy next to her could do things that no other Viking, no other man on earth could do – the way she saw it, he could get away with being a little less modest.

"Just makin' a few extra axes," Asmund said with a sad smile before sighing.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Syn asked.